


metal now!

by cantsaythursday (horriblekids)



Category: All Time Low
Genre: Cheating, M/M, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-30
Updated: 2011-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3139169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horriblekids/pseuds/cantsaythursday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that living well is the best revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've finally gotten around to importing my ATL fic over here! Hopefully you guys can forgive my use of second person as a narrative tool. I went through a phase where I thought it was extremely cool and I'm not sorry. Find me on tumblr [here](http://saidtheskeletons.tumblr.com).

For the thousandth time, you tell Jack what a bad idea this is. “You’re going to regret this when you’re thirty,” you say patiently, watching out of the corner of your eye as Zack sketches out the design. It is quite possibly the ugliest, most garish tattoo design you’ve ever seen and apparently, it’s going on your best friend’s chest. You choose not to comment on the fact that the only reason you’re at this particular shop is because of Jack’s fondness for one particular artist, as evidenced by his hard nipples. “When you’re old and fat and have Alzheimer’s disease, you’re not going to remember what that is and it’s going to be a saggy purple nightmare.” He presses himself up against you and grinds his hips into yours, grinning stupidly. What an asshole.

“It’s a great idea,” he announces cheerfully for the fifteenth time in as many minutes. You push him away as forcefully as you can; his belt buckle is digging into your stomach and it hurts. When Zack calls him back, you take a seat on the other side of the counter. Mostly this is because you’re a little bit needle-phobic when it comes to other people; it’s okay if it’s your own skin and you can’t see what’s going on, but something about the idea of watching something going into your skin repeatedly freaks you out. While you wait – it’s going to take a while and Jack doesn’t look like he minds particularly much – you go through the pockets of his hoodie and pull out his iPod. If he’s going to drag you along and make you hang out while he gets inked, then you have every right to play with his stuff and tell him he has shitty taste in music afterward.

You pick out some of Rancid’s older stuff – Time Bomb era, to be exact – and settle in for a long afternoon of waiting. “I still think this is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” you remind him. Just in case he’s forgotten; you’re going to lord it over him so hard when he regrets this later. You’re playing the stupid brick game and losing when some guy comes in, plunks himself down in the seat opposite you, and sits there looking at you with this little snarl on his face.

Yeah. You get it. You’re not hardcore enough to be here because you’re wearing skinny jeans and a name brand hoodie to his baggy shorts with band patches on them and his t-shirt that didn’t come pre-worn but got that way from years of abuse. “What are you getting?” he asks. You are so not interested in this conversation or this guy; he’s the type of person that strikes you as total stoner material and you don’t want to get into it with him. He’s got chipped black nail polish and that unnatural thinness you know comes from eating maybe one square meal a day and living in the back of a van. In other words, he’s unremarkable and replaceable along with damn near everyone in this place.

“I’m with stupid,” you say flatly, tipping your head in Jack’s direction. Jack’s hands are curled into the fabric of his pants tightly, his face a total grimace. You knew he wouldn’t handle the pain well. Or maybe he’s trying to hide his arousal; it’s not a normal day unless he’s masturbated in public at least once. You’ve got the public indecency citations pinned to the bulletin board in the kitchen to prove it. Sometimes you wonder about him...

“What are you listening to?” the guy asks.

You don’t answer him, just put your hood up and give him what you hope is a forbidding look. Strangers and you do not jive so well together. Instead, you hum along with Tim Armstrong’s gravelly voice and tap out the rhythm to Radio on your knees. Because when the music hits, you feel no pain at all. You keep your eyes firmly fixed on Jack’s face and make ghastly expressions at him to make him laugh until he relaxes into the tattoo. Zack smiles gratefully at you and says nothing. He’s a man of very few words and many tattoos. Some of them you don’t understand the meaning of, but you’re not about to question a guy who’s poised over your best friend’s nipple with a tattoo gun. Unlike some people – not naming any best friends who have a fucking Nightmare Before Christmas character outlined on their chest – you have a sense of priorities.

The intensity of this guy’s gaze is starting to make you feel anxious. You can feel his eyes on you even though you’re not looking at him. After thinking about it for a few minutes, you get up and take your stuff with you to sit on Jack’s right side and hold his hand for the rest of the hour. He squeezes your hand so tightly you swear you can feel the fragile bones splintering, but once he’s let go and you’ve had some time to flex your fingers, it feels fine again. “Check it out,” Jack says happily, puffing his chest out like he’s some kind of ape... Actually, that’s not a half-bad description of him. You have to admit that it’s not as ugly as you thought it was going to be. But still. If he asks you to rub weird, nasty crap all over his chest then you’re going to say no. There is such a thing as asking too much of your friends and you’re pretty sure that rubbing weird oils all over them is one of those things.

You’re a little bit surprised, then, when Jack and the guy who was staring at you recognize each other and proceed to do a complicated fist-bump handshake thing you can’t follow. “Jack-off,” the guy says, sucking his lip ring into his mouth.

“Hey, yeah. This is my best friend Alex,” Jack says, shoving you forward slightly so you stumble and nearly fall into the guy. “You gettin’ something done?”

The guy nods. “Just waiting for you to be finished, bro. Zee does some quality shit.” And the grin that follows that statement tells you that he’s making a double entendre but you can’t quite follow it. In some ways, you really are disgustingly naive. Jack offers no explanation; he grabs you by the wrist and leads you out the door chattering excitedly about the fact that Zack’s thumb brushed his nipple and how he thinks that there was definitely a spark between them. You’re not so sure about that.

“Buy me Starbucks,” Jack whines when you get to the stoplight, leaning his chin on your shoulder and reaching automatically for your hand. “I want, like, a scone or something.”

You feel around in your pockets. There’s a grand total of three dollars and seventy-one cents in them, along with the twenty in your wallet that’s meant to be for you to buy groceries with. He’s not getting a fucking coffee; anyway, you don’t buy into all that corporate bullshit. But he’s looking at you with that earnest puppy-dog expression and he is your best friend, so your attempt at being hard with him fails when you look at him and feel yourself softening. “Not Starbucks,” you tell him firmly. “If you want a coffee that badly, we can go visit Cass at work and tease her about her crush on Rian.”

Jack says, “You’re a fuckin’ dickhead.” You fight the urge to flick him in the nipple; public indecency is his thing, not yours. Instead you opt to smack his ass and then run for it. He may have longer legs, but you can run faster because you don’t have two years’ worth of beer gut to compensate for. At the next corner, he catches up to you and tackles you to the ground. You don’t tell him that you let him catch up because the light was red. “You’re going to pay for that up the ass, Gaskank,” he guffaws. Instead of responding you just sigh and poke his sides until he moves. People are kind of looking at you as they walk by, laying like that, but at the moment you can’t be bothered to care.

“We should get up,” you groan. His bony hips are digging into your stomach which is, admittedly, a little fleshier than you’d like it to be. Jack smells familiar, like sweat and beer breath. “Hey,” you say, poking his nose lightly. “You’re my favourite.”

He grins and smacks his lips against your forehead before sitting up and doing some sort of weird barrel-roll manoeuvre onto the sparse grass the city likes to spend thousands of dollars cultivating between the sidewalk and the road. This is why you don’t believe in paying income tax. Your money could be going to stuff like hospitals and doctors but instead it’s getting wasted on fucking grass by the side of the road that kids spit their gum in. Once you’ve stood up, he flails his arms in your direction and – grudgingly – you haul him to his feet. The things you do for this kid.

 

*

A few days later – once he’s shown the fuckin’ ugly tattoo off to everyone he knows – Jack talks you into going to this show with him. Only it’s not so much a show as it is a random assortment of people in somebody’s basement, jamming to this really shitty-great band. You’ve got a red solo cup full of just plain coke and you’re nursing it miserably in the corner, watching your best friend slam dance with a bunch of guys you vaguely recognize from high school. There are a couple of punks and some people you know from downtown but for the most part it’s a different crowd than you’re used to, which sets your anxiety on edge razor-sharp, which is why you’re drinking flat coke instead of doing shots in the kitchen or something.

In between songs Jack weaves his way over to you and crouches down to talk to you on your level. “Hey, come dance,” he says, rubbing his knuckles on the knee of your jeans. He knows you want to; you’ve been sitting here nodding your head aimlessly for a while but unless someone goes with you, you’re generally not a fan of the dancing. Also, the basement smells like weed so you’re pretty sure you’ve gotten a second-hand high from that and it’s enough to make you feel weird about being the soberest person in the room.

His palm is warm and sweaty against yours. Together you weave through the crowd, pushing your way to the front near the makeshift stage and grinding on each other. Jack laughs, throwing his head back, and after a few bars of getting shoved around and taking elbows to the ribs he leans in and shouts, “That’s my friend Matt, remember you met him the other day?” You push your forehead against his despite the sweatiness of his hair against your skin and then dip your head down to bite his shoulder.

You glance up at the stage but there’s no automatic flicker of recognition. You’re usually pretty good at remembering names and faces, and the guys playing are totally unfamiliar to you. “Nope,” you shout over the music, “Not ringing any bells.” Although – if you’re being completely honest with yourself here – the guy fronting the band is... kind of a fox, in a scuzzy way. He’s staggering around with mic in hand, shouting lyrics from songs you listened to in high school and hanging out with the crowd in between songs. You’re pretty sure you would remember this guy if you had ever met him before. Instead of worrying about it, though, you jam along with the crowd and dance with a couple of girls brave enough to ask, curling your arms protectively in front of them so they don’t get it in the face from the guys who are obviously tripping out on something fairly heavy.

Of course, this also means you get separated from Jack, who is like your security blanket in any size of crowd. Luckily the last girl you end up dancing with is Cassadee, who twists around in your arms to talk in your ear at the end of the last song. “Does Rian ever ask about me?” she wants to know, biting her lower lip uneasily. You both glance across the room to where Rian is sitting in his typical slouched-over stance, hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts, cap backwards. He’s engaged in deep conversation with a couple of guys who have a fat joint that they’re sharing between them; he is obviously stoned out of his mind but you don’t think Cass cares.

“I don’t think he knows you exist,” you answer. It’s the truth. “Go, you should go talk to him.” You give her what you hope is an encouraging nudge. She looks at you like you’re insane; hey though, you kind of are. Mental health issues, that’s you. You are a certifiable crazy person as deemed true by science.

She punches you in the shoulder. It doesn’t really hurt, though. Cass has like... bird bones. They’re practically hollow, she’s so little and light and chirpy all the time. “I don’t smoke,” she reminds you. To illustrate this point, she reaches into her purse – how does she not lose that thing, it’s so tiny – and pulls out the little packet thing that contains her birth control and waves it in your face. “Not that you’d know what these are for,” she teases, scrunching up her nose and pulling a face. That’s not fair! You totally had a girlfriend in the tenth grade. It wasn’t your fault she turned out to be a lesbian and you turned out to be... well... you.

Before you get a chance to watch her approach, a familiar arm is around your shoulders and then there’s that awful slimy feeling of your best friend’s tongue against your cheek. You didn’t shave today so you hope he gets, like, beard burn on his tongue or something. Fuck, you didn’t even shower today. “Jack, that’s disgusting,” you groan, wiping your cheek with the back of your sleeve.

“Alex Gaskarth, Matt Flyzik. Flyzik, Gaskarth,” he says grandiosely. “You guys talk. I’m gonna go throw up somewhere.” You find yourself suddenly face to face with – yeah – the lead singer guy and you don’t know what to say. And you feel like you’re missing a piece of the puzzle here, since Jack doesn’t often force strange men upon you, so there’s that to contemplate too. Jack staggers off before you can ask him what the fuck he’s doing, leaving you to make awkward eye contact with this guy who you have apparently met before but don’t remember at all. He’s got two lip piercings and you can’t stop staring at them.

“I uh. Liked your band?” you mumble, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet anxiously. Instinctively – every time you have to talk to someone you don’t know and especially attractive guys you’re harbouring lustful thoughts about – you pull the sleeves of your hoodie down over your hands and play with them. It’s actually Jack’s hoodie, so it’s slightly too big for you and smells like whatever shit body spray he uses. The smell is comforting, though. Your body, though, is going danger! danger! just looking at this guy, so you kind of need that comfort. If Jack hadn’t just run off, you would ask him what the fuck is up with throwing you at random guys, but given the circumstances, you’re going to have to go with your instincts. Even though you don’t really trust them. “I, yeah.”

He looks you up and down with an appraising smirk. You are not going to deny that it’s kind of sexy; makes you feel a little bit sexy, which is a nice change from your usual sense of self as an unappealing, sweaty lump. “You wanna go make out somewhere?” he asks.

And you do, so you follow him up a flight of stairs to the main floor of the house. He leads you out onto the porch, where some guys are sitting chain-smoking. They leave once Matt clears his throat, making his intentions clear. “So, um.”

“Yup.” Then he presses you up against the sliding glass doors and kisses you right there, long and deep and hard. Instinctively, you kiss back, letting your hands fall to rest at his waist and you do not register your annoyance about the door handle digging into your spine because, hey, making out. It’s kind of awesome and dirty. He bites and sucks at your lower lip until you open your mouth to him; then he’s all hot-wet tongue exploring and you feel kind of like a slut for how much you’re enjoying this. He tastes like hard liquor and something else, something you can’t name. And then his hands are up the front of your shirt, groping roughly at your chest. You don’t normally make out with random guys at parties, but maybe you should. It’s... You’re engaging in pretty much an act of voyeurism because that is totally his hand making its way in a southerly direction.

He pulls away from your mouth to bite along your jaw; you tip your head back against the glass and sort of shove your arm in the general direction of his belt buckle so you can reciprocate. “Fu-uck,” you mumble, arching up against him when he starts sucking on your neck so hard you know there’s gonna be a mark there for days. The thing is that he’s not even properly touching you yet, just palming you through your boxers – and when did he get your jeans undone, you didn’t even notice that happening... and you have your hand down his jeans because he’s going commando and you’re stroking him and very much enjoying the noises he’s making in his throat.

“God,” he says, resting his forehead against the door so his mouth is next to your ear. “You’re so hot, what you do to me...” His voice sounds fucking wrecked, which is... fair considering his band just played an hour-long set and you’re giving him a handjob right now in a public place. This is exactly the kind of thing that gets you off, sounds like that, and then his mouth right on your ear dragging his teeth down your earlobe.

“Oh,” you whimper. His hand has found its way into your boxers and you’re shamelessly pushing your hips up to meet his touch, pressing against his calloused hand eagerly. You are being so slutty right now. Jack’s probably looking for you, he wanted to leave after the... “Oh,” you moan, sinking your teeth into Matt’s shoulder as you come. Because you totally were not thinking about your best friend during a fucking handjob. That would be... wrong on so many levels. He’s practically your brother. Matt’s entire body twitches when he comes wordlessly and then it’s over, just like that. Then you have a handful of sticky, hot cum which you’re really not sure what to do with. Is it considered rude to wipe it on his shirt or something? Or yours? Your shirt is already pretty gross. “Uh...” You stare at your hand awkwardly. This is... What are you supposed to do?

Something feels slightly off about the whole experience but you can’t figure out what. You opt to wipe your hand on your pants, which is gross; however, the fact that your boxers are uncomfortable and sticky is far worse. “You can get my number from Jack-off,” Matt tells you. “I think he’s looking for you, actually.” You turn and see his earnest face on the other side of the glass. Then you realize that you have been kind of holding the door shut with your ass this whole time so you move and open the door.

“Alex,” he slurs happily, lurching forward until he’s basically using you as support to remain standing. “You smell like spunk.” He wrinkles his nose, makes a weird face. Then he takes in your gross jeans and laughs. “Oh god,” he cackles. “I’m interrupting, aren’t I? Sorry. Great.”

You put your arm around Jack’s waist. His shirt rides up and your skin sticks to his sweaty back a little bit. “Come on,” you murmur against his hair. “Let’s get you home and in bed, it’s late.” Then you sort of look around because you figure you’re supposed to say goodbye to the guy who just gave you an awesome handjob or something, but he’s disappeared. Frustrated, you kiss Jack on the cheek fondly before hauling him around to the front yard to catch a bus home. He’s mumbling drunkenly about something, but you’re not really listening to him. It seems like you’re always holding him up these days. Fucking bastard. You really do love him though.

 

*

When he doesn’t call, you’re not exactly disappointed. After all, he doesn’t have your number. It’s not like you thought that because you exchanged sloppy handjobs at a party that he was going to want to call you and possibly date you or anything. But either way, you spend the next twenty-four hours with Matt Flyzik on the brain. You get home from work and look hopefully at the answering machine, but the message light is just as unwaveringly turned off as it was when you left in the morning. Jack, Rian and Cassadee are taking up the entire couch – although Rian and Cass are looking a little cozy, which you approve of – so you plant yourself firmly in Jack’s lap and rub your nose against his. He returns the gesture, slipping his arms around your waist so you can lean back into his chest comfortably. “Did anyone call for me today?” you ask, pressing your face into the side of his neck. You are so tired. He smells good, though. Suspiciously good.

“Nup,” Jack mumbles. He runs his fingers through your dirty hair, pushing the strands around absentmindedly until you nuzzle into the touch. “Why, were you waiting for a call or something? You know my mom only calls on Sundays.”

“Yeah, I was waiting for my weekly phone sex with your mother.” He moves his fingers down to scrape his nails along the nape of your neck. Fuck, this feels fantastic. Maybe he’ll even give you a backrub later if you complain enough. You then notice Rian and Cassadee staring at you as if you’ve grown two heads. “What.”

Cassadee sighs and says, “You two should just date already.”

Jack bursts out into hysterical laughter, complete with that really attractive snort thing he does. Yeah, like you’d ever date Jack. He’s practically your brother. You can’t help hiding your face in his shoulder as you wait for your own laughter to subside. Being attracted to him would be like... That thought sends you into a fresh peal of laughter. “Seriously, no,” you laugh. He snorts once more and pets your hair affectionately. “But really. Did your friend – did he, like, call or ask about me or anything? The one from, y’know, last night...”

“Wait, wait,” Rian interjects. “You’re telling me that you managed to get some ass last night even with Jack-o climbing all over you like he normally does?”

“Oh!” Jack says, snapping his fingers like he’s just remembered something. He probably has; next thing you know he’s feeling around for his phone in his jeans pockets. To an outside point of view, it probably looks like he’s groping your ass, but he’s not. It’s just his phone. You’re way too comfortable with each other for it to be normal. He holds his phone out to you. “His number’s in there somewhere, just take it and... do whatever. But I am saying this now. You are not allowed to have sex with him in my bed.”

You scroll through Jack’s contacts until you find the number and enter it into your own phone. He drums his fingers impatiently on your thigh, running his other hand over your forearm listlessly. Honestly, half the time you don’t even notice when he’s touching you because you are so used to it. “Thanks, bro,” you tell him, angling your head up so you can bite his jaw affectionately. “Now help me think of something witty to say so he doesn’t think I’m a complete knob.”

“You are a complete knob though,” Rian mutters under his breath. You’re watching him out of the corner of your eye; he’s been steadily moving closer to Cass for the duration of the conversation, inching his arm further and further down the back of the couch until it’s kind of hovering awkwardly about three inches from her shoulders. She’s wearing a tank top, so once he actually puts his arm around her he is going to be touching bare skin. Apparently your helpful advice last night paid off in spades.

You sit and stare at your phone for the next fifteen minutes trying to think of something appropriate to say. Jack continues playing with your hair the whole time. Eventually you give up on the idea of calling and lean into your best friend’s touch, letting out a small sigh of contentment as he rubs the back of your neck. “You should just text him,” Jack says. “Might be easier.”

“Mmm,” you agree. You text Matt with a semi-casual, ‘Hey, it’s Alex from last night, had a good time, we should do it again maybe?’ Except that after you’ve hit send you feel like that sounds way too slutty and desperate. You shift around in Jack’s grip until you’re comfortable, one arm slung loosely over his shoulders and your feet tucked under his thigh. This action also causes Cassadee to have to scoot closer to Rian, which is completely intentional on your part. Her cheeks turn beet red as soon as she realizes that his arm is around her shoulders; they’re so adorable together that it’s almost painful. So you sit there, turning your phone over and over in your hands slowly convincing yourself that he’s not going to text back, and then... Your phone vibrates, scaring the shit out of me. “Fuck, aah,” you squeak, flailing your arms. You drop your phone; Jack grabs it up before you can stop him and you want to punch him.

“Oooooooh,” Jack says campily. “He says he wants to see you again, bro.”

“Fuck right off,” you tell him. He hands your phone back with a really cheesy grin. The text says, ‘yeah okay cool. you busy tomorrow night?’ to which you reply, ‘Nope, free as a bird.’ Jack watches this whole exchange unfold over your shoulder. Your heart actually does skip a beat when Matt replies to you with, ‘your place or mine?’ and you say ‘Mine, I’ll get Bkat to vacate the premises.’ He replies with a smiley face and says ‘so like 7:30 or w/e?’ You say ‘Yeah, sounds good. Can’t wait to see you again.’

Jack pokes your ribs and goes, “You’d better be paying my tab at the bar tomorrow night then since I am apparently ‘vacating the premises’ for you.” He says the words ‘vacating the premises’ with those ridiculous finger quotes that he does, so you end up laughing into his shoulder.

“We could leave right now and they probably wouldn’t even notice,” Cassadee says to Rian, who nods his agreement solemnly.

“Maybe we should. You wanna go for a drink or something?”

You and Jack look at each other; he cocks one – admittedly pretty big – eyebrow and scrunches up his nose. “Did that actually just happen?” you ask. Rian offers Cass his hand and she takes it, blushing prettily, then he escorts her very politely out your front door and down the stairs. It’s very out of character behaviour for him. Most of the time he’s only interested in watching porn and smoking a bowl.

Jack says, “You made that happen, bro. That was all you. Now move your fat ass so I can lie down on the couch and we can watch a movie or something.” Unwillingly, you stand up and wait for him to arrange his lanky self on the couch so you can lie down with him. He’s warm and comfortable – his slightly pudgy stomach is soft and warm against your lower back and you’re just enough shorter than him that his body fits under yours perfectly. Not a bad set-up, if you do say so yourself. He slips one arm around your waist and reaches for the television remote with his other hand, flipping through the channels until he eventually settles on some sappy Lifetime Movie Channel drama.

“Mmm,” you sigh, resting your hand on top of his and lacing your fingers together loosely. ”Do you really think Matt likes me?”

“I think so. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Mmkay,” you yawn. You shift around until your cheek is pressed into his chest; his fingers curl around yours a little more tightly in response. Jack is obviously enthralled by the cheap acting onscreen, so you close your eyes and let his steady breathing and heartbeat lull you to sleep. For whatever reason, you always sleep better with him around you. It’s very comforting or something. He’s just... your favourite person in the world and he always feels right and smells right and knows what to do to make you feel okay.


	2. Chapter 2

Your forearms are quivering from both the weight of holding yourself on your hands and knees and the effort it takes not to touch yourself. Matt’s gripping your hips so hard it hurts – there are going to be bruises for sure even if he doesn’t draw blood – and pounding into you from behind at the most painful angle of your fucking life. This is not sexy. He’s grunting like an animal and it’s doing absolutely nothing to turn you on. You kind of expected it to be better than this, given the way he treated you the other night. All you can focus on is him moving inside you and how much it hurts. But you keep hoping it will get better, dropping your head down between your shoulders and resting instead on your forearms.

“Fuck,” he grunts, reaching forward to grab your hair roughly and pull your head back up. Seriously, if you arch your back anymore for him you are going to break in half. This is not a position your body should ever be in. It’s humiliating, painful and tragically un-sexy. You feel like you’re in a bad porn video and you’re the sucker that got conned into letting some guy fuck him. If you touched yourself right now, at least you would get off instead of having a semi from the friction he’s creating with his erratic thrusting. You find yourself looking at the clock, realizing it’s been twenty minutes of this and wonder when it’s going to start to feel good. The only sounds in the room are skin slapping skin, his... sounds and your shallow breathing.

You keep telling yourself it will get better once you relax. You know you’re clenching around him, can’t stop tensing up for some stupid reason. Maybe there’s not enough lube. It can’t be his fault. He likes you, right? So it’s got to be something you’ve done. Feebly, you shift around until you find a position that allows you to support yourself still and reach between your legs to stroke yourself. “Oh my god,” you mumble, feeling that little electric shock shoot up your spine. His hands tighten their grip on your hips. It still hurts, but now it’s the kind of hurt that’s so good little spots of white dance across your field of vision. And then you can’t stop thinking about the fact that you’re on the carpet in the living room and you’re getting rug burn from this. “Shit,” you gasp. He’s finally shifted just enough that if you push back against him it feels really, really fucking good.

Then... in one blistering hot moment, it feels like your bones are trying to leave your body and your spine is being ripped apart. He lets go of you and you collapse in a sticky, exhausted heap on the carpet. The fact that it’s carpet doesn’t help your over-stimulated – albeit softening – cock. You feel him pull out, then he uses your discarded shirt to clean himself up before getting dressed. That’s it? you think to yourself. You can’t help feeling like there should be more... something.

“I would stay,” he says, not meeting your eyes when you sit up. “But I’ve got work in the morning so I should probably head out.”

You’re pretty sure the disappointment that swells up in your chest shows on your face too. “Okay,” you reply quietly, pulling your legs to your chest. Your knees are bright red from kneeling on the carpet; you don’t really want to imagine what the rest of you looks like right now.

He goes, “I’ll call you.”

And you don’t stop him from leaving. You just sit there in stunned silence watching him go. You roll your shoulders trying to work the kinks out, move your wrists around until they sting a little bit less and then put your boxers back on despite wanting to lie there on the floor and not move until Jack comes home. The carpet’s a mess, too. You decide that you do just want to lie there and stare up at the ceiling for the next however long until you hear the door. Even then, you don’t move. Your entire body aches. Jack’s tipsy; you can tell by the way he stumbles into the house and kicks his shoes off clumsily. “Living room,” you call to him. You haven’t moved from this exact position in over an hour because you feel like shit right now and if you get up to do anything, you will self-destruct.

“Hey,” Jack says, lowering himself gracelessly onto the floor. He tucks your hair behind your ear without thinking about it. “You okay?”

You shake your head. “That... I don’t know what happened. He wasn’t that into it or I wasn’t or, or... I don’t know.” You blink away the tears lurking at the corners of your eyes. It’s taken you this long to be okay and you really don’t want to backslide. Jack wraps both hands around one of yours and looks at you very seriously. “It was just sex,” you whisper. Somehow this admission makes the aching in your chest even worse, if that’s possible. You feel so... used. Humiliated. Worthless. The thoughts swirl around at the front of your head and instantly your fingers twitch.

“You don’t have to do this again if you don’t want to. C’mon, I’m drunk and you’re sad so you’re sleeping in my bed tonight.” There’s really not a lot he can say to make you feel better at this point. You follow him to his bedroom and crawl into the unmade bed; it smells like sweat and jerking off and Jack. He strips down to his t-shirt and underwear and joins you, pressing himself comfortingly along your back as he wraps his long arms around your waist. Then he curls his fingers around yours and murmurs, “Fuck him if he doesn’t appreciate you.”

You sigh. “I don’t appreciate me right now.” Then you twist your arm around so you can hold his hand and bury your face in a pillow. His thumb grazes the raised pink line on the inside of your wrist. You think about how disappointed Jack would be if you fucked up; you think about all the other scars on your forearm and decide it’s not worth it for the momentary numbing of your feelings. You’re not going to cut tonight even though it hurts. Not tonight. In the morning, you are going to feel like shit when you see what a mess you look, but for now you kind of need to not be alone.

“Well, what happened? Was it just bad sex or...?”

“I... I may have gotten irrationally upset,” you answer. Really, it could just be you. Maybe this is normal for him. He probably is going to call you tomorrow. He probably does have to work. You’re being a complete loser over what is probably nothing. “I don’t know,” you confess. “Maybe I was just nervous.”

Jack clears his throat softly and asks, “Did you... did you go all the way with him?” There’s something in his voice you don’t recognize; that bothers you, but he’s also kind of drunk so there’s no telling with him. When you don’t reply right away, he exhales heavily and goes, “Oh, Alex.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe next time just...” he says helplessly. He lets go of your hand and rubs your side. Still not very comforting; he rubs over one of the bruises and it makes you jump a little bit. You’re fighting back tears again. This time, they’ll probably win. Not that that’s much consolation. For some reason, you kind of thought a date included the actual ‘date’ part of the evening instead of just going straight into the sex part of it. For some reason, you were actually delusional enough to think a guy like that might want you. There’s probably not going to be a next time. You fall asleep with Jack’s breathing in your ear and his hand sitting on your hip lightly. Again... not exactly comforting.

 

*

When you get home from work the next night, the house is dark. The first thing you see when you walk in the front door is the answering machine light blinking hopefully. Your heart skips a beat. After flipping on the light, you take a deep breath and push the play button on the machine. There’s the beep, and then, “Hey Alex, it’s Matt. It’s like... six thirty or so? Anyway, call me back. I wanna hang out this weekend so let me know if you’re busy or not. Okay. Yeah. Call me.” It’s Thursday night, so you should probably call him back right away. Luckily, you worked most of the day so you didn’t really have much time to obsess over him calling vs. not calling so you are in relatively good spirits about it at the moment. Once you’ve had something to eat – cold pizza, delicious – you sit at the kitchen table with phone in hand trying to figure out what you’re supposed to say to him when you call.

On the one hand, last night did not go so well. On the other hand, his message made it sound like he really wants to see you this weekend. Maybe yesterday was a one-off. He could have been just as nervous as you were about the whole thing. That seems like a pretty likely explanation, now that you’re thinking about it rationally instead of being anxious about everything. So you dial the number carefully, erase it twice before you even hit the call button, and on the third time you actually do it.

He picks up on the second ring. “Alex, hey,” he says, his voice coming over the line warm and sultry. It’s a total one-eighty from how he was with you last night, rough and aggressive and, frankly, a little... mean. Your stupid heart flutters at the acknowledgement. “So I was wondering... we’re playing a show tomorrow night and I thought that maybe you’d want to come hang out. I mean, it’ll be pretty boring but... whatever, you know? You could be my Plus One for the night.”

... You’ve never been a Plus One before, don’t even know what that really means, but you accept without even pausing to think about it. “Yeah, yeah, sounds great. I’d love to. Um, I guess text me the details later or whatever? I just got home from work but I figured I had better call, y’know, and I’m glad I did now because this sounds like it’s going to be awesome.”

“Hey, hey, you should keep talkin’ to me for a while,” he says. “I was thinking about you all day today. About... last night.”

“O-oh,” you stutter. You’re not sure if he’s trying to be sexy with you right now or what.

He says, “I told my friends about you today, how I think you’re pretty cute... how I can’t stop thinking about you... the way you make me smile...” And you can feel yourself smiling at that; you were wrong to be so paranoid and now you’re really glad you didn’t do anything stupid. He’s sweet. Then – just for a second – you think about how weird Jack has been acting the past couple of days. You brush it off. He’s used to having your attention every waking moment of the day. It’s going to take some getting used to, having to share your attention with someone else now that you have a maybe-sort-of-boyfriend-person. God, you’re stupid about him.

“I... told Jack about you?” you say, completely omitting the fact that Jack worried over you half the night and asked you if you were really okay seven times this morning. You counted. It’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to say to someone you’re interested in, though. “So um... Yeah. Your band. You’re really close with those guys, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” You picture him shrugging, playing with his lip ring a bit. “I mean, I live with Grieco and Danny so we’re really more like family than anything. It’s weird though because they’re kind of like a thing and then they’re not, so it’s... When they’re not together Danny sleeps in my bed and he gives me like, fat love bites and shit. Don’t worry about it though, he’s... he’s pretty much straight. He’s my best friend.”

“Uh... okay,” you say, feeling a wave of jealousy sweep over you. Something about that doesn’t sit right with you, but if he says it’s okay then it must be. And anyway, sometimes you sleep with Jack so you’re not even in a position to judge that. Although that’s a completely different situation entirely; you don’t see each other that way in the slightest. He’s your brother, your soulmate in all but the romantic and... sexual... senses.

Matt asks, “So what are you doing with yourself the rest of the night?”

You shrug, then remember he can’t actually see you. “I don’t know, I thought I would just chill until Jack gets home and then go to bed or something. My life isn’t particularly interesting, really.” Then you play with the zipper of your hoodie awkwardly and wait for him to respond. You’re having trouble thinking of anything to talk to him about. Matt probably doesn’t care about the last book you read or, like, how you like to play with your parents’ dog or whatever. None of that is particularly cool or edgy and that’s how he is.

“I was gonna have a few beer, maybe smoke a joint,” he tells you. Your stomach twists uncomfortably. Not that you’re judging him; it’s just that you’re supposed to be staying away from that kind of stuff because the temptation to indulge is too much and you’ve spent the last year of your life trying to get better. Jack would strangle you. At the same time – you don’t know his history with it, don’t know for sure that you should listen to the voice in your head that is telling you this is a bad idea, to get out now. Your heart and head are at war, in other words. Something about doing that at home by himself strikes you as inherently sad.

“Mm,” you hum noncommittally. It’s neither approval nor disapproval; it’s an acknowledgement at most. “Sounds like... fun. Yeah.”

“Hey, I should probably let you go, but I’m gonna text you the directions and shit, alright? Make sure you smile though, ‘cause you make me smile. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Bye,” you murmur before hanging up the phone. Now you feel all... elated and kind of bouncy. Matt makes you feel stupidly good about yourself. You catch sight of yourself in the bathroom mirror when you go to brush your teeth and almost don’t recognize the person looking back at you. It’s been a long time since you looked this happy. Even though you’ve got a couple of angry-looking marks on your neck from last night, you look happier than you’ve been in months. It’s a really nice feeling to be able to put a name to.

 

*

“I don’t think you should go,” Jack says. He’s sitting on your bed watching you do your hair in his underwear. “He made you feel like shit the other day so I am not his biggest fan right now.” You’re not sure how seriously you’re supposed to take him right now since he’s been drinking since about noon. Maybe it’s just your nerves getting to you. It’s only your second date thing, after all, and this is the first time you’ve actually gone out somewhere with him. But you’ve squeezed yourself into your favourite jeans – the white ones that make you feel really good when you wear them – and you’re actually feeling kind of fantastic at the moment. You look at your reflection in the mirror, frown, and run your fingers through your hair to fluff it up a bit more.

“I look okay though, right?”

He sighs. “Yeah, you look fine. I’d tap that.” You can tell that he is not impressed. There are probably only about twenty minutes before you should leave, anyway, so that doesn’t leave him a lot of time to talk you out of it. When you were in high school together, actually, one of your teachers called you ‘single-minded to the point of recklessness.’ It fits. You flop down on the bed next to him, careful not to wreck your artfully-yet-artlessly styled hair. That took you half an hour, okay, you are not going to let it get ruined before you even leave the house. Jack huffs and rubs his face tiredly. “I’ll leave the door unlocked for you,” he says. “You should get goin’, you don’t want to be late because there will probably be a line even if you’re on the list.”

He has a point. You do want to make a good impression, so you jam your feet into the black high-tops known only as Dem Shoes – which Jack wants to steal but is not going to – and lace them up quickly. “Okay, I’m gonna go,” you tell him, leaning over to peck him on the cheek. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t, jeez,” he grumbles. You really don’t understand why he’s being so sulky and miserable all of a sudden. Ugh. Well, you can always ask him about it tomorrow.

It takes you about half an hour to walk to the club where Matt’s band is playing. In that time, you get hair in your mouth twice and stop to look at your reflection in the windows of parked cars just as often. So when you get there, of course there’s a line, which you have to wait in for another half hour until you get up to the bouncer. You can see some of Matt’s friends – you think they’re his friends, anyway – milling around by the side door. “Ticket?” the bouncer asks.

“I’m on the list,” you tell him. “Alex Gaskarth?”

He lets you past. You feel strangely important. This is very cool. You’re technically hanging out backstage right now, which is something you never thought you would be able to say. Besides the usual group of musician types hanging out, there are also a few... You don’t want to call them band sluts, but band sluts. They’re always the same type; little girls with low-cut tops and teased or straightened hair and too much mascara. They call themselves photographers, but really their parents bought them nice cameras and they know how to use Photoshop. You have no respect for them. And there’s one in particular that seems to be hanging off Matt pretty desperately, and from the looks of her, she’s underage.

For a second, you really wish you’d told Jack to come with you. He’s your security blanket in unfamiliar situations. Once Matt catches sight of you and comes over to greet you, you hug him and then ask, “Who was your friend? I don’t think we’ve met.”

“What?”

“Your friend,” you repeat, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth. “Or is she just some, like, random band slut?”

Matt frowns. “Don’t call her a slut, Alex. It’s just Kendra. She’s one of my best friends, just like you and Jack. Nothing for you to worry about.” Your stomach does that odd twisting thing again; there is no way he can compare it to you and Jack because nothing is quite like you two. It does not sit right with you, but he’s smiling at you and he does hold your hand the rest of the time you’re together, so you try not to think about it. Matt introduces you to about ten different people whose names you then proceed to forget. The only people you can remember are Danny and Grieco and Evan, who you already knew vaguely from around town. You just didn’t know his name before.

You find yourself immensely annoyed when Kendra comes over to talk to Matt again when he’s obviously busy with you. “Matt,” she says, sliding her arms around her waist and pushing her breasts up against them. Which, you think to yourself, are really not all that impressive to begin with since she is wearing a push-up bra and she still has to push her arms together to make them look bigger. Just seeing the way she is with him annoys you because it makes you so uncomfortable. And then there’s the way she’s looking at him, so... no. No one looks at their best friend like that.

“Hey, babe,” he says, letting go of your hand to wrap his arms around her. “We still on for tomorrow? I can pick you up in the morning and then bring you back Monday night.”

Something about her rubs you the wrong way. Maybe you’re being irrationally jealous – Jack calls you on that a lot, it’s kind of a problem – but she really annoys you. To the point that you kind of want to take a pin to her push-up bra and laugh as whatever gel they use in those things seeps out and she looks horrified. Yes, you are a horrible person. She’s kind of a slut, though, is the thing. And she looks about fifteen years old. Once she’s gone away and started making out with some other random guy – seriously, gross – you try to get Matt to talk to you but he just won’t. “So what’s tomorrow?” you ask. It’s genuine curiosity. Mostly.

“Oh,” he says, “Uh. Kendra and I are kind of going out of town because she has this model thing so I’m driving her and we’re going to do a little road trip. She’s paying me for gas and everything. We do this kind of shit all the time, don’t worry. I would ask you to come with, but...”

“Yeah, no,” you say. “Absolutely, I understand. I have to work anyway.” You get the distinct feeling that you weren’t supposed to find out about this little road trip. Then you tell yourself to shut up because you are being way too paranoid over a guy you know very little about. If he wasn’t interested in you, he would say so.

Before you can say anything else, he leads you off to a secluded little corner and kisses you. “I was thinking about you all day today too,” he says. His pupils are so dilated and you do that to him. That’s you. You can’t help but feel immensely pleased with yourself since you don’t really consider yourself to be, you know, a sex object or anything. “Never stop thinking about you, actually. You’re... you make me weirdly happy and I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Yeah. I feel... connected to you. More than I’ve ever felt to anyone before, so I’m really kind of sad that it took me twenty-one years and four failed relationships to find you.” You look into his eyes and think that he’s being really honest with you for this to only be your second date. Maybe this is moving too fast... You don’t really know what to say to him, so you kiss him again and feel that same stupid sense of satisfaction and happiness wash over you. “You’ll text me when I’m gone tomorrow, yeah?”

“Okay,” you say. “We’re, we’re like... serious, right?” It’s funny; you feel kind of insecure even though he’s just said all of that. But he wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. You just can’t shake that... feeling.

“Of course we’re serious. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before and I want to be with you for a long time. Like... maybe forever.” He looks really sheepish having said that, which is fucking adorable as hell. He kisses you again, says, “I’ve gotta go so we’re ready to go on in a bit.” Then that irrational jealousy runs through you again when you see him give Kendra another hug before regrouping with his bandmates. You shouldn’t feel that way, but you do and you cannot explain why. It’s... annoying.

Evan seems to notice your annoyance; he comes over to talk to you. “Hey, haven’t seen you around lately,” he says. You shrug. “So uh... Matt seems to be really into you, you know?”

“I guess,” you mutter, glaring darkly at the little hussy as she hangs around with the band and puts her hands all over your maybe-probably-boyfriend. There’s something not right about that. “Anyway, I’m gonna go find a place to stand so I’ll see you around."


	3. metal now! - 3/4.

When the call comes, it’s nearly four in the morning on Saturday and you’re slumped against Jack on the couch; the credits for the movie you were watching with him are rolling and your cell phone is buzzing frantically on the coffee table. You pick it up to see that you have a bunch of missed texts and calls, all from the same numbers. One of them is Matt’s, which is surprising. You’d figured he would go straight to bed since he has to drive stupid Kendra somewhere in the morning, but you scroll through your missed calls and most of them are from him. Jack barely even stirs when you sit up straight and punch in the code for your voicemail. No one ever calls your cell unless it’s urgent.

“Alex?” Evan’s voice is harried, shaky in your ear. “It’s Evan, um, I know you probably haven’t been home long or if you even are right now but something’s going on with Matt so I wanted to see if you knew anything or... yeah. Call me and let me know what’s going on.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about. You go through your texts – all from Matt; what the fuck is going on? – and they get more and more... apologetic. He’s saying he’s sorry for being a bad person, that he wants to get better so he can make you happy. It feels like a swift punch to the ribs when you realize that something is very, very not right about this situation. You saw him less than six hours ago. What the hell could possibly have happened in the space of six hours to warrant this type of – reaction? behaviour? you don’t know – from him? Your heart is beating so fast you’re on the verge of a panic attack. There’s really not any other option right now but to call him, so you punch in his number with shaky hands and press the phone to your ear.

It takes almost a full minute for him to pick up and as soon as you do, you feel positively ill. “Alex,” he says slowly. “I didn’t want to talk to you because you would worry but you don’t need to because it’s okay. I just took some stuff and I’m really high right now but I’m going to be okay. Danny and Grieco are here and they’re watching me and... okay. It’s okay.”

“Wait. What.” The emotions filter through your brain all at once like a child’s flipbook – fear, anger, surprise, confusion, concern, and about a hundred others you can’t name – as the situation sinks in. You’re shaking. Because this isn’t a thing that should be happening; he’s your boyfriend thing and you think he’s great and he has so much going for him so why is this even a situation he would put himself in? Then you think of the complete disconnect in behaviour from your first date to your second. That makes you feel even worse. Maybe this is your fault; maybe you’re, like, not good enough for him and this is a result of that feeling.

Jack finally wakes up. “Mmh, what’s happening,” he asks sleepily.

You hold the phone away from your mouth. “I have no idea, just, shit and I’m freaking out and Matt,” you tell him. You’re shaking so badly right now. Your mouth feels dry and you might throw up. “Okay. Matt. Tell me what’s going on so I don’t worry any more than I already am.”

Matt says, “No really, it’s okay. I just wanted to feel something so I took some pills and now it’s working. I wasn’t trying to die or anything. I don’t want to leave you. I swear, I needed to feel something and that I didn’t need the high so now I’m gonna get better for you. I want you to be happy.” You can’t help thinking that this is the biggest load of shit you’ve heard in your entire life. Doing drugs is a selfish act and you’ve seen people far more important to you destroy their lives with them. “Alex, I love you, I’m okay. I promise if anything happens I will go to the hospital.”

Tears are running freely down your face. Partly, you’re really angry at him for doing this to you and partly you’re angry because you feel like you should have known or at least suspected that he did this shit. “Look, I think you really need to go to the hospital or something. Please don’t make me worry.”

Jack is sitting and listening to the entire conversation solemnly. You can tell by his body language that he’s pissed, though. He’s got that angry tense thing going on where his muscles twitch and his mouth goes into a hard line instead of his usual goofy grin. “This is shit,” he whispers to you. “He’s an asshole and he has no right to do this to you.”

Matt says, “Alex. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

You want to trust him. You can’t trust him. “Why would you even do this?”

“I...” he sighs. “It has nothing to do with you. I don’t even know what I did to deserve you.” The words ring hollow when you know he’s tweaked out on something. Normally this would be it; you’d dump anyone else on their ass about now but there’s something about him that keeps you interested despite knowing that it’s a really bad idea to try and continue the relationship, however it turns out. “I’ll be fine. You should sleep, I’m going to sleep this off so you shouldn’t worry about me.” He repeats this sentiment several times. It’s a bit annoying, him telling you not to worry when he’s just gone and done something this fucking stupid and scared the shit out of everyone.

Jack says, “Just let him sleep it off. It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, okay. Matt, you need to go to bed or something... I’ll talk to you once we’ve both slept and just... take care of yourself. Please.” Then you hang up on him, text Evan a short explanation of what happened and all but collapse in your best friend’s arms. “I can’t even deal with this right now,” you sob. Your entire body is still shaking and feels like it’s never going to stop.

“You deserve so much better. He’s an asshole.” And Jack repeats this sentiment several times while rubbing your back, which does make you feel slightly less awful, but you still end up falling asleep in his bed to avoid any... temptations that might occur. This time you actually suspect that Jack may be right, but you’re not going to make any definite decisions until you’ve slept and eaten and talked to Matt.

The thing is, you’re pretty shitty at sleeping on the best of days. So the rest of the night you find yourself waking up on the hour, lunging frantically for your phone in a panic and then breathing a sigh of relief every time you see that you have no new messages. Every time you do this, Jack makes an annoyed little noise, but you can’t help it. You’ve never been so worried – or so scared – in your entire life. It makes absolutely no sense. The last time you saw him, he seemed so happy. He seemed so... content with life. You are really struggling with understanding why Matt would do something like this to begin with, much less why he would do it on a regular basis.

*

When you wake up in the morning, the house smells like bacon and coffee. You’re quite positive that Jack doesn’t know how to make either of these things, so you force yourself out of bed groggily to find out what’s going on. First you stumble into the bathroom, take one look at yourself in the mirror and immediately wish you hadn’t gotten up in the first place. Not only do you feel like shit, you look like shit too; your skin is ashy and pale and it looks like you haven’t slept at all. You check your phone – still nothing, thankfully – and then once you look somewhat presentable you go into the kitchen. Rian, Cass and Jack are already there, talking quietly and looking very... somber, for lack of a better word.

You press yourself into Jack’s side without a second thought and whine, “I feel like shiiiiiiit.” He squeezes you and kisses the top of your head, just holding onto you until you remember that there’s bacon and coffee. “Who cooked?”

Cassadee raises her hand sheepishly and smiles. “I thought you might appreciate it since you had a pretty rough night, it sounds like.”

“She made the coffee,” Rian informs you dryly. “I know all about the last time you tried to cook, babe, but it was a nice try.” They seriously are the most adorable couple you’ve ever seen. And... you made that happen. It’s a nice little ego boost after the shitty, sleepless night you’ve had. You love seeing your friends happy and, from the look of things, they are both very happy with each other. Rian steps forward and pats you awkwardly on the shoulder. “Hey, uh, if there’s anything we can do, let me know. Or Cass, you know, whichever.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, lips sort of grazing Jack’s neck as you speak.

Jack pokes your stomach lightly. “Hey. Go eat something, then we’ll talk. I know you want the bacon. Come on, baaaaaaaaacon,” he says enticingly. Surprisingly, you are really not that hungry and you tell him so. He frowns, rolls his eyes and goes, “Okay, what if I rub the bacon on my body first, then will you eat it?”

“Yeah,” you deadpan. “Can’t resist bacon when it’s been rubbed all over your bony, naked body. How can I possibly resist the temptation to eat it. I don’t even know. I have no willpower, god, you drive me crazy.” You suppose this was part of his plan, to make you laugh so you’d feel better. It’s half-working. Mostly because the other half of you feels completely terrible and wants to crawl back into bed and stay there forever.

Nonetheless, you allow the three of them to coax you into eating two pieces of toast and some bacon and drinking two cups of coffee. It does make you feel a tiny bit better, once it gets past the lump in your throat and hole in your chest. Once you’re done eating, Cassadee stands up and hugs you tight. “I wouldn’t blame you if you broke up with him,” she says gently. Jack and Rian nod their agreement. Despite what they may think, you’re actually not that set on it just yet. It kind of depends on what Matt says to you later – if anything – because he was high the last time you talked to him so things could just have gotten blown out of proportion. People were there with him the whole time, so it’s not like he was in any actual danger. Right? That’s what you’ve been telling yourself the entire time.

“I dunno,” you tell them. “I mean, he does make me happy...”

Rian frowns. “Dude, seriously, don’t take that shit from him. Either he cleans himself up and makes an honest go of it or tell him to get lost. You can do better than that shit.” That’s a fairly large statement coming from him considering he hits the bong pretty hard at parties. But you suppose that’s the distinguishing feature – he only does it at parties. He doesn’t do it all the time and you’ve noticed that he takes special care not to do it around Cass because she doesn’t smoke. And that’s as far as he’ll go; Rian actually isn’t as much into the party drugs as people think.

“Are you going to call him?”

You look at your best friend, considering the question. “In a bit, I guess. I don’t really know.” Then you think that you probably should, even though you don’t really want to talk to him at the moment. It’s not that you’re angry at him. You’re angry at his behaviour; you’re angry at the person he is when he’s high and the worst part is that you don’t even know how to distinguish between Matt high and Matt sober. It makes you feel sick to your stomach to think about.

Because... now you’re questioning what state of mind he was in when a) he fucked you that night and b) last night when he said all that wonderful stuff that made you feel so special. You’re wondering who it was that was interested in you in the first place because he’s all hot and cold with you all the time. Rian says, “Just text him. Then there’s no pressure on you to answer him right away if you don’t like what he has to say.” It’s probably the best advice anyone could give you at the moment.

‘Hey, how are you feeling?’ is what you end up sending him. You get back ‘Hey can’t talk right now am driving Kendra to her thing, will talk later.’ This sets your teeth on edge a little bit. He’s acting like nothing fucking happened. You were out of your mind with worry to the point where you were a little bit afraid he was going to die, and now he’s brushing it off – and you, actually – as nothing. Good to know where his priorities lie. You have this awful feeling that the bullshit is not over. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth. After sitting there for a full minute taking deep breaths to stop yourself from snapping, you say, “Well. I’m kind of pissed. Not that that’s exactly surprising news right now.”All three of them hug you and spend the morning watching Friends reruns with you. It still takes all of your energy not to check your phone constantly. You must be a sucker for punishment or something; the whole situation makes your heart ache.

*

It says ‘So glad we found your g-spot this trip.’ You sit there, sleepy and stunned, staring at the screen. Something is not clicking in your brain properly because the sender field of the text says ‘From: Matt Flyzik’ but there’s no way that can be true. Because... Well, first of all, you’re kind of lacking the anatomy for that to be directed at you, so obviously this was meant for someone else. And you’re pretty sure you know who, all things considered. If you were pissed off before, you’re fucking livid now. You haven’t heard from him for a day and half. The annoyance you are feeling currently is... at maximum capacity. Instead of reacting, you crawl out of bed even though it’s six in the morning and walk straight into Jack’s room. You shake him awake.

“Wake the fuck up,” you growl. “I need to talk to you about something and it cannot fucking wait.” Your entire body is shaking; you’re not sure if it’s from anger or confusion or a combination of the two, but either way you’re shaking so hard it almost hurts.

“What.” He sits up in bed looking confused and annoyed, but then he takes one look at you and cracks his knuckles. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. What did he do now?” You haven’t seen him look this angry in a long time, possibly... possibly ever. Wordlessly you hand him your phone, wait for him to read what you’ve got and watch his face tighten as he visibly fights not to start cursing right then and there. “I... think you need to talk to him about this. Obviously. It could just, uh, be someone fucking around with his phone or something, you know? Could be a joke. He... takes a lot of things less seriously than he should sometimes.”

You nod, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Okay. Okay. So am I supposed to ask him what that was about, or how do I even approach this? Because I am...” You swallow hard. “I am pissed and kind of upset and really, really starting to feel like his heart’s not in this as much as he was acting a few days ago.”

Jack touches your shoulder lightly. “I know. I know, but sitting here panicking about it isn’t going to help anything. Do you want to call him or... It’s whatever you want to do.”

Considering you are practically on the verge of tears, calling him is not the best idea. Before you can make up your mind, your phone vibrates in your hand. It’s another text from him. Even now, you’re kind of hoping that it’s a joke and he’s going to tell you as much. When you flip it open, your heart drops. ‘We need to talk,’ he says. Those are the four words no one ever wants to hear. You should know; you’ve pulled that on enough people in your life to know that that never means good news. You reply ‘Um okay... what’s going on?’

Less than a minute later, you get ‘I want you to be able to see other people.’

“What the fuck,” you say. “I don’t want to see other people. Is he... Seriously.” Anyone who knows you well knows that you are, for the most part, the jealous-possessive type. When you settle for one person, you stay with that one person until they tell you to go away for good or until it blows up in your face. You’re not even sure what he’s trying to say to you right now. ‘Is that really what you want? Where is this coming from?’

‘I need to stop hurting you. It’s not really fair that you talk about things and I don’t think about things so I want to stop hurting you because you should be happy.’

You look at Jack, who shrugs. He’s not really doing a very good job of reining in his anger right now. “Tell him... I don’t know. I kind of want to punch him right now, to be honest, but... make sure you’re not getting taken advantage of. I will kick him in the ‘nads if I have to, even if I was the one who told you to talk to him to begin with.” This actually does make you laugh a tiny bit.

‘And you think trying to cut and run like this isn’t going to hurt me? I thought we had something.’ You have no idea how the fuck you’re being so rational right now. You’re sitting on your best friend’s bed shaking like a leaf trying to figure out what’s happening and your mind is already trying to piece things together, make sense of things that aren’t even there. He says, ‘I’m not going to drag you down, just forget about me.’

‘I still want to be with you though. You can’t fucking pull this on me if you still care.’

Matt tells you, ‘I don’t care about you. I’m sorry, Alex. Just stop.’ And you sit there remembering all the things he said to you, the cute texts in the beginning and the way he looked at you. You’re not an idiot. No one is that great at lying; affection like that cannot be faked regardless of the level of inebriation of the person in question. If he wanted to push you away, he should have acted like he actually meant it because the fact that he’s still replying to you completely contradicts the point he’s trying to make. ‘This is not over,’ you reply. ‘I can see through what you’re trying to do and we are going to work this out.’

There’s a long, painful silence between you pressing the send key and his next message. You’ve stopped shaking by this point. Now you feel a little numb, like this isn’t actually happening because it’s fucking surreal. Then it comes: ‘I’m in love with Kendra. I don’t care about you. I’m sorry. Don’t even bother.’

‘Do you actually mean that? Or are you just saying that so I’ll stop fighting for you?’

His reply is, again, completely contradictory. ‘I don’t know. I’m confused. I want you but she’s constantly in my head and I can’t stop thinking about her.’ You think about the way he looked at her that night; the way he completely brushed it off and the fact that he had the audacity to compare his relationship with her to you and Jack. Then he follows up with, ‘I’ve loved her my whole life, fuck. I don’t want to lie anymore.’

Jack reads this over your shoulder and says, “That’s the biggest load of bullshit I have ever heard. He’s... a complete fucking asshole.” He repeats that sentiment several times before suggesting something that may actually be useful. “Okay, I’m not going to tell you not to be with him because I know how much you like him, but... If he cares about both of you, then there’s no reason he shouldn’t be able to be with both of you as long as you’re okay with it. Some people... They can’t be with just one person.”

This makes a lot of sense. ‘Then don’t lie. If you still want to be with me I’m okay with you having a thing with her too. I don’t need a definite commitment as long as we’re on the same page.’

‘I can’t have both,’ Matt says. The lump in your throat gets a little bigger. You’re trying so hard to make this work and it’s just... not. ‘It’s just me. Sorry.’ And you know what the obvious, easy thing to do would be since you’re making yourself look so desperate right now. You feel desperate. Then you think about everything, for a minute, in terms of the way he’s acted up until now and where his priorities have obviously lain the entire time.

‘We can still be, just... less intense. I’m okay with less.’ There’s another pause before you receive ‘It’s unfair on you and Kendra to do this. I’m sorry. I do care but I can’t have either of you.’

With shaking fingers, you type, ‘It’s obvious your heart is not in this anymore so I’m going to let you go. I want you to be happy even if it’s not with me. So... please. Be happy.’ He sends you back a few more cursory one-word responses before you get pissed off and turn off your phone. Then – because you are at this moment nothing more than a pathetic, deflated lump – you burst into tears and curl up in a little ball on Jack’s bed and stay there for several hours. Jack stays with you, rubbing your back and trying to get you to eat something, which you can’t do. Your appetite has basically disappeared completely.

Mostly it’s the fact that you’ve never been this humiliated before in your entire life. It’s the fact that, while you’re laying there feeling miserable, Jack gets a couple of texts from Rian who heard it from Evan that Matt and Kendra are having a good laugh over you right now. He tries to protect you from the brunt of it, but you get the point. Joke’s on you: Matt tells everyone point-blank that he was using you and how stupid you were to believe that he actually cared about you. You know better than to believe that. Right now, he’s pissed off and he’s angry and he’s running scared. Because you’ve been that guy too. You start to get too attached and everything starts seeming too real, too difficult, too committed, and so you turn around and run away, change everything you are and make yourself seem super-straight. It’s such a predictable behaviour pattern. The really sad part is that you can pinpoint exactly when it happened and exactly what went wrong. You got outclassed by a fucking band slut. That’s the really sad part. Jack tells you not to react, that that’s what they want you to do, and he’s right. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction because he’s a user and he deserves whatever he gets.


	4. metal now! - 4/4.

The next time you see Matt, you’re walking down the street with Jack and Evan, who has actually turned out to be a really great friend now that you’re sort of over all the shit that happened over the past week and a half-ish. Jack’s holding your hand loosely; you’re on the way back from the grocery store because they both thought more ice cream and bad horror movies were in order, and you see him down the street talking to this really shady-looking dude with long, greasy hair and nasty clothes on. He looks right through you. You clench your jaw and squeeze Jack’s fingers a little more tightly. Evan loops his arm through yours and gives you a knowing look.

You only manage to catch a little of their conversation. The guy says, “Do you know them or something?” He’s the type of guy you wouldn’t want to associate with and you take a lot more satisfaction than you should when you notice how intimidated he looks. Matt looks you up and down – you see the flicker of recognition in his eyes – and then shakes his head.

“No,” he replies. You’re passing right by them at that moment and you can see his throat move when he swallows. That’s his tell – you figured that one out, when he’s nervous or lying he swallows a lot – and... God, you just really hope that whatever he’s doing right now with this creepy asshole backfires on him in the worst way.

It’s not that you’re completely over him. After all, it’s been like two days, but you’re over the sad and mopey part of moving on because now you’re mostly just angry. Even Evan – who is about the biggest pacifist you’ve ever known – wants to punch him in the face, and you’ve never known or heard of him talking that way about anyone ever. It’s funny when he starts ragging on Matt’s little girlfriend. “Can’t believe the way some people lie,” he says loudly while you’re still within earshot.

“Like a rug,” Jack agrees. You’re tempted to look over your shoulder to see how he reacts, but it’s not even worth it. Once you’ve crossed the street, he leans over and says, “It’s not even worth it. Don’t react; that’s what he wants you to do.”

You’re well aware of what he’s been saying about you to other people by now. It’s kind of funny how he thinks he can make you look bad by mouthing off to anyone who will listen about how pathetic you are and how gorgeous Kendra is to anyone who will listen. The thing is that he’s losing friends almost as quickly as he’s losing precious grey matter from all the shit he puts into his body. You can’t really feel sympathy for him since he’s not looking out for anyone but himself. It’s the principle of the thing. He can’t play it both ways. Either he can ignore you or he can try to make you look like shit. By trying to do both he makes himself look like a hypocrite, and Kendra is only making it worse by deluding herself into thinking that he cares about her any more than he cared about you.

“You know what they say, right?” Evan says to you later.

You shake your head. “No, what do they say?” The three of you are sitting in the living room watching some girl get her head cut off with a chainsaw. It’s the third or fourth movie in a series of these extremely terrible B-movies and they get funnier the longer you watch.

He grins. “Living well is the best revenge. I mean, he got the girl but you kept all of the friends. Keep on doing it, dude, you’re a really great person and it sucks that it took this level of bullshit for us to really become friends.”

That, you think, is probably one of the nicest sentiments anyone has ever given you. Jack groans and goes, “If you two get any sappier I’m going to cut off your heads with a chainsaw. I don’t do emotions, you know that.” He punches you in the shoulder playfully and ducks out of the way before you can retaliate. Things are slowly getting back to normal.

*

You’re sitting in bed watching a movie with Jack when it hits you with the intensity of a trainwreck. He’s got his arm around you and you’re leaning into him with your head on his shoulder like you usually do, and then suddenly it all clicks into place. One minute you’re sitting there calmly watching zombies eat people’s brains and everything, then you find yourself thinking about the way he smells. And you realize that, uh, hey, you’re kind of ridiculously attracted to your best friend and you don’t know how you never noticed that before – how you always need to be touching him, how you always need to have him around and be the center of his attention, how he’s the first person you want whenever something happens. He’s the first person you want, period. You’re not really sure what to do with this new knowledge.

He doesn’t look any different when you lift your head slightly to look at him. Same stupid nose, same dumb face, same old Jack. He does look at you with that little confused expression he does, all blinky and frowning slightly. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he whispers, touching the tip of his nose to yours. This doesn’t exactly help settle the butterflies in your stomach.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” he says. “You’re makin’ your thinky face.”

You bite your lower lip uneasily and go, “I. Yeah.” Then – before you can overthink this and complicate everything – you take a deep breath, lean in, and kiss him full on the lips. You’re not really prepared for it when he kisses you back. He keeps it steady and slow at first, running his fingers through your hair, and just when you’re starting to relax into it, he pulls back. You wonder if he can feel your heart pounding; it feels like it’s the loudest sound in the room right now.

“Alex, we can’t. You’re my best friend. I... I. I would never forgive myself.”

He’s looking at you with the most pathetically earnest expression you’ve ever seen. You’ve spent so long in denial of these feelings and all of a sudden it’s hitting you full-force. God, you are an idiot. Seriously. How could anyone not see it? “I want this,” you tell him. “I want... you, I just didn’t realize it until now.” It kind of scares you how intense everything feels; you’re all tingly and hot and you just want him to stop worrying about it because you really do want this more than anything. So you’re more than relieved when, a couple of seconds later, he kisses you again and moves his hand down to rest on the back of your neck.

It is... To be honest, it’s really terrifying to know that this is your best friend you’re kissing. And that he’s reciprocating, which kind of calls his feelings for you into question because what if he doesn’t feel that way about you? You’re pretty sure, though, that he does, because he’s being really slow and gentle with you and it’s... surreal. Complete opposite to everything you’ve been through over the last week, and now you understand why none of that felt right. This is right. Jack shifts slightly and his knee grazes yours in his move to pull you closer. Not that you’re going to resist when he’s right there with his lips all slick and warm and perfect. He slides his hand up the back of your shirt; you like the little tingle that shoots up your spine when his fingers graze your skin.

You’re kind of painfully aware of the lack of clothes between the two of you, also. Not that you have, like, expectations, but the way he’s making you feel makes you want that a little bit. Then he nips your lower lip, sliding his tongue fluidly into your mouth when you part your lips for him. Without even pausing to think about it, you run your hand up over his bare chest. You really don’t mind his stupid tattoo that much. It’s kind of... maybe a little bit sexy, actually? He whines when you pull away so you tell him, “Hey, we’re not done, just,” and pull your shirt off.

“Uh. Wow. Okay.”

“Yup,” you agree, rubbing your nose against Jack’s.

“You have work in the morning,” he mumbles, pressing his lips against yours sweetly. Yeah, you know that you have to work in the morning but you also don’t particularly care because it’s a shit job and you hate it there. When you deepen the kiss again, this time you allow yourself to press even closer to him and when you do that, you... really like the result it gets you. “Alex,” he says. “I don’t – it’ll be weird, you’re.” He’s not protesting that enthusiastically, though, considering he’s rubbing your hip in little circles and very obviously trying to hide how turned on he is right now. You completely understand what he’s worried about, but... it’s not really going to be that awkward. He’s your best friend and, barring that, you’re kind of completely in love with the idiot.

“Is this what you want though?” God, you want to touch him. It’s so weird. You’ve seen him naked a million times – seen him jerk off just as many – but it’s never been like this before. He lets out this breathy little moan when you start mouthing along his jaw.

His pupils are fucking huge and dilated, but the thing is? That’s definitely all you. “Y-yeah,” he admits sheepishly. It’s cute how nervous he is. “Can I...?” Okay, so maybe you’re a little nervous too. You lift your hips, let him slide your underwear down and swallow nervously. He’s moving slow and deliberate, taking the time to kiss you some more and let you get used to things before taking it any farther than that. Then you think maybe you’re ready for more so you – very nervously – reach down and sort of inch his boxers down, leaving him plenty of room to tell you to stop in case he’s decided that this is too weird or something. He doesn’t, though. He scrapes his nails over your thigh and slides one of his legs between yours. You take this as an indication that you’re probably supposed to start actually touching him soon.

It’s not as weird as you thought it would be. You’re having this entire shift of mindset now; you don’t know how you ever thought he was goofy-looking because he’s really kind of hot. At first he strokes you slowly, drawing it out until you’re practically shaking and you have to stop yourself from thrusting up into his hand. “Oh my god,” he breathes.

Yeah, it’s kind of a mindfuck to be giving your best friend a handjob, but what else is new? He makes all these hot little noises and every time you look at him he’s looking right at you and if you weren’t, like, about to lose your fucking mind from the things he’s doing to you, you’d probably tell him that you love him or something. “You are,” you tell him, letting your lips graze his ear, “so fucking hot right now.” Then he does this flick thing with his wrist that makes your entire body shake. God. Just... god. You actually kind of white out a little bit for maybe ten seconds because... wow. Um. Orgasms from your best friend? Possibly the best thing ever. It’s not even just. You feel it in your whole body.

Jack makes a strangled noise that may or may not be his attempt at warning you before he comes, but... Bad timing. You feel really bad for laughing, but when it happens you kind of end up giggling into his shoulder while he glares at you. “Stop laughing,” he groans. “I hate you.”

“That is such a lie,” you tell him, squirming out of his grip to grab a dirty t-shirt from the floor to wipe your hand on. Then you lean over and kiss him before handing him the shirt. “You liked it. That was the worst noise ever though, you sounded like... fuckin’... a dying seal.” It’s only funny because it’s completely true. And yet, you’re not turned off by that whatsoever.

He says, “I feel like we’re supposed to drink wine and chain-smoke now or something.”

“You’re such a dick to me sometimes, oh my god. Don’t be like that.” You – very unwillingly – twist around and lunge for your alarm clock to make sure it’s set before settling down under the covers with him, noting that he hasn’t bothered to put any of his clothes back on yet. If he doesn’t, you won’t either. This is very awkward. You’re not sure whether you’re supposed to want to cuddle with him now or if that’s a thing people do or not, but your question is answered by him making a very grumpy, very Jack-like sound and reaching for you impatiently. “Alright, alright, I’m coming,” you mutter.

Except... You’re kind of on the wrong side of the bed to sleep facing him, which you don’t want to bring up because he totally knows that about you already, being your best friend and all. He says, “If you wake me up before your alarm goes off, I am going to cut your dick off and make sandwiches with it.”

“Charming,” you sigh, leaning over for another kiss before turning over onto your other side. He kisses your shoulder sloppily, slings an arm over your waist and mumbles something incoherent into your hair. Of course he’d be ready to pass out on you right now. Of course. You mutter, “Yeah, I love you too, asswipe.”

“Mmmm. Yeah. C’n we sleep now? Body feels like... jello. Love you. Boyfriends and shit. Night.” It’s... probably the most awkward declaration of love you’ve ever heard, honestly. But it works. He’s such an asshole. But, apparently, he’s your asshole, so you’ll take it. It takes you longer to fall asleep than you expect; you keep pinching yourself to make sure this really just happened because it feels kind of like it could have been a dream. The evidence is there, though. You’re not wearing any clothes and Jack is sound asleep next to you and the DVD player menu is on, movie long since forgotten. Classy, right?

*

The following night, when you get home from work, Rian and Cass are over again. You’re glad to see them; they’re probably your best friends besides Jack. Although... You’re not really sure he counts as a best friend, considering. So when you’re out of your shoes and jacket, you immediately curl up on the couch with him, letting out an anguished sigh as he wraps his arms around you. “I hate my job,” you whine. It seriously was the longest fucking day of your life and all you could think about was getting home and spending time with him. That’s... again, it’s not that different from any other day of your life.

Jack rolls his eyes and goes, “You say that every day and yet you refuse to quit or look for another job.” Which he says every time you complain about it. You can see the amusement in his eyes. He pokes you in the ribs and plays with the buttons on your shirt out of boredom.

“Don’t forget who pays the bills,” you remind him.

Rian clears his throat and says, “Hey, idiots, there are other people in the room, stop being weird.” Cassadee elbows him and he groans. You can definitely tell who wears the pants in that relationship. He’s so completely stupid about her. “Anyway!”

You get kind of distracted for a minute. Jack’s hand has very stealthily found its way inside your shirt and it’s hard to pay attention to anything besides that, so you squirm and kick him in the shin because he’s being a brat. “Stoppit,” you scold him. “You’re obnoxious.” He pouts his lips, like that’s going to change your mind, but you’re ignoring him. One thing about him is that he does not give up when he wants your attention, so now you have to sit there ignoring the fact that he’s stroking your hipbone very teasingly and that you completely want to give in to him.

“Fuck off, I haven’t seen you all day,” he whines.

“No, fuck you.”

Then he grins and says, “Well, yeah, that’s the goal,” which catches you off-guard. You weren’t expecting him to say that. Ugh. It does make you laugh, though, so you sigh and kiss him on the cheek. Points for effort, right? You’re not sure how to bring up the whole... relationship thing to your friends or if you’re even supposed to, so you feel a little bit awkward thinking about the things you’d like to be doing to him right now.

Cassadee groans and shakes her head. “You two,” she sighs. She and Rian share a knowing look. “Hey, turn on the news, I want to see what the weather’s gonna be like tomorrow.”

You’re not really paying attention to the newscaster; you really don’t care that much unless it’s, like, music news and the local media isn’t going to report on that kind of stuff. Instead, you let yourself get distracted by your boyfriend, who is playing with your hair and looking at you with this really dorky expression. “Did you already eat or am I on my own?” you ask him.

“Naw, too lazy. I thought about ordering something in but, whatever.”

This makes you laugh a little bit. “God, you’re like a stay at home dad, minus the annoying kids.” It’s only funny because it’s completely true, but it makes Rian and Cass laugh as well. One of these days you’ll get on his ass about finding a real job instead of doing odd jobs with his father and brother, but for now you’re kind of content for things to stay the way they are. He’s being all cute and nuzzling you – probably because he wants a kiss, but again, kind of awkward without any kind of... preamble since your best friends are here. “You’re seriously the biggest dork,” you tell him.

He grins. “You like it, though.”

Uh... Obviously. You decide, fuck it. “Hey, c’mere.” Then you press your lips to his and he makes this very satisfied sound before bringing his hand up to cup your cheek and kiss you back lightly. “Happy now?”

“... It’s about time, you guys,” Cassadee sighs. “That only took you what, ten years or so?”

And thus the teasing begins – all good-natured, of course – but it makes you blush and hide your face because they are just. so. mean to you about it. “Shut up,” you whine, burying your face in Jack’s neck. “I’m an idiot, okay, I am really bad at noticing really obvious things sometimes.”

“Hey, hey, everyone shut the fuck up a second,” Rian says, reaching for the remote and turning the volume on the television up. You missed the headline because you were, um, a little distracted, but the screen is showing news helicopter footage of some kind of police activity on the other side of town. They zoom in on the sketchy-looking guy who you think is definitely some kind of drug dealer being led away in handcuffs, who is trying to cover his face and failing really badly at it. It’s unclear what exactly happened, but you recognize the area they’re in and, you think, just before they cut back to the news desk, you see a familiar face in the background being handcuffed and read his rights. A sense of smug satisfaction creeps into your chest. Maybe you should feel like a bad person for hoping something bad happened to him, but god, did he ever screw you over.

Jack looks at you and says, “Karma,” before distracting you with another kiss and the promise of getting a pizza delivered to the house. Yeah, you don’t really care that much anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [saidtheskeletons](http://saidtheskeletons.tumblr.com).


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